The North Pole
by Beyond-BB-Birthday
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky was a lot of things. He was certainly good at hiding a lot of them. Otabek was good at seeing them, especially after his win when he went straight to the North Pole and nobody else seemed to notice.
1. Switches

A/N: Boy has it been a while since I've done a chaptered fanfic. Lord knows it's the last thing I need to be doing right now. First few chapters cover the events up to and including Welcome to the Madness, then who knows~

* * *

Chapter 1 - Switches

Yuri Plisetsky was a lot of things: ambitious, focused, talented. He was also a very private person. Few people had ever managed to crack the shell of a nut that was the Russian Punk.

Yakov, of course, knew he started skating via government grant, and for the benefit of his impoverished family. Yuri didn't let that fact get past those who needed to know, of course.

Yuuri knew he wasn't as tough as he made himself out to be, having witnessed the very moment he found his _agape_ under the waterfall that early spring day.

Of course, Victor knew this too; having found him teaching the Japanese Yuuri the quad-Salchow for no reason other than to give a competitor a fair shot. All of them knew that Yuri wasn't one to shoot an unarmed enemy.

Yakov wasn't particularly perceptive when it came to Yuri's personal life, and Victor had long been too self-absorbed to notice. Lilia was nothing more than a coach, and a demanding one at that.

Mila was the one who Yuri was sure had an inkling of what was going on. With every gold medal he collected, she almost always noted his change in mood. He felt lucky, living alone so nobody could see the true inner workings of his psyche.

His grandfather knew him well, but he didn't know mental illness. It was beyond his culture and before his time.

Despite him remembering Yuri from all those years ago, despite him seeing right through him from the day they met, Yuri didn't even consider that the minute he stepped off the podium at the GPF, Otabek would immediately notice his mania.

It didn't creep in like it usually did. He didn't try to hide it like he usually did – he was used to not having to, for the most part. And Otabek caught on before they'd even left the stadium.

"You seem different," he said bluntly once they'd made it through the first wave of the press and into the change-room.

Yuri shrugged. "I just broke a world record, let me live."

Otabek raised an eyebrow. "Okay."

Yuri was too oblivious to realize his legs bouncing up and down as he dug through his bag. Otabek wasn't.

* * *

Yuri had known he was abnormal – more abnormal than was socially acceptable – since long before he could put emotions into words. Only once he was able to put words into search engines did he realize there was a reason he could go days without sleep and would do quads at age twelve with no regard for his coaches' concern. Only once he was fourteen, receiving his biannual physical did he think to mention the word "bipolar" to a doctor – prompting a steady, uncertain look from him and receiving and pill which he told Yakov was for sleeping. Not a complete lie.

When he wasn't up all night practicing, working out, dancing or – when things got really bad – drinking, he was normal. Pill worked.

And when he _was_ manic, he couldn't blame it on the pill, right? It always came after a win or after coming home from a long stint abroad. Good things = good mood. So whenever he asked, Yuri always told the doctor he was fine. And he was. He liked it this way.

Sure, he had bad days, bad weeks. Bad months. But if Georgi and Mila, and yes, even Victor, were any indication, that was surely normal.

Yuri Plisetsky was a lot of things: ambitious, focused, talented. He was also a very good liar. So good that nobody seemed to notice his 'switches', as he called them. So good that he could fool himself into believing that's all they were, little switches in mood and behaviour. Just benign, temporary changes easily reversed over time. He was such a good liar that he'd convinced even himself that it would never be a problem.

* * *

"I've never seen you smile so much," Otabek noted as they donned their sweats and prepared to face the paparazzi that awaited them on the other side. His eyes darted down to the medal around his neck – a rarity for Yuri, who, he'd noticed, had taken to stashing them in his bag after a win.

"I'm happy, okay? Is that a crime?"

Yuri pushed past him. Otabek said nothing. 'Happy' wasn't a word he'd ever heard him use, let alone to describe himself.

Having not been the one to create world history, Otabek's interviews were short and sweet – not that he minded. It gave him time to watch Yuri, who, for the first time since his last Junior World's win, was grinning and talking so much interviewers actually cut him off. Repeatedly.

Once he was sure the press was done with him, he lingered behind, close enough to hear the other skaters. JJ being arrogant despite his rather undeserved place on the podium, Yuri Katsuki, predictably, yielding the floor to Victor announcing his comeback (Otabek was surprised this didn't overshadow Yuri's glory, but then again, _men's single's history_ ), and of course, Yuri Plisetsky's strange responses. More arrogant and grandiose than usual, if that were even possible. Turns out it was.

Otabek's eyes shot open when he made out what the reporters were going after him about next. "Can you give us any tip-offs about your exhibition skate tomorrow night?"

"Well, I know my coach will kick my ass for saying so, but I'm thinking of scrapping the whole thing. Starting from scratch." The press were just loud enough to drown out the cry Yakov had certainly let out not too far away.

Otabek tried to catch the blonde's eye, but he was far too absorbed in the splendor of being the most interesting skater in the room to pay attention to anything but which microphone was currently in front of his face. Otabek met up with his coach and headed back to the hotel. He had no doubt that, in his current state, Yuri would soon be blowing up his phone in any case. It was like his personality had almost completely switched.

* * *

A/N: I'm bipolar myself, currently in a mixed state, but I've been right at the top and the bottom. Anyway, I haven't written an outline yet, so this is a bit of a case of building a bridge as I run. We'll see where it goes!


	2. White Russian

Chapter 2 - White Russian

Otabek hadn't even made it the two blocks back to his hotel room before he felt his phone buzz not once, not twice, but six times in the span of a mere five minutes.

Once he was out of the cold, he waved off his coach and headed for the hotel bar. He ordered a beer in fractured Spanish (it'd been a long flight, but those were always good for reading phrasebooks of the new land he'd be occupying for a week) and sat down to check his phone.

" _Where'd you go?"_

 _"Wanna do something? Yakov said I can have a few hours off even tho he's pissed"_

 _"I dunno if you heard but I'm scratching my expo skate. Got a lot of better ideas anyway"_

Otabek checked his watch. He wondered how long he had before the blonde found him.

 _"C'mon, don't make me celebrate with fuckin Mila and Georgi. Or worse, Victor and the Piglet"_

 _"Ugh"_

 _"Fine, I gotta change anyway, ttys"_

Otabek sipped his beer in silence, wondering what to make of this "new" Yuri. He'd barely known him a week, not counting their brief interaction five years earlier, yet he knew something was wrong. He hated throwing around such words, but he almost seemed bipolar.

He had two more days in Spain… What to do, what to do… Travelling didn't mix well with introversion, especially in the company of an inaccessible, detached coach and but one underage, moody friend.

Unlike Yuri, Otabek had had his exposition skate planned and nailed down for months and didn't plan on "scratching" it the night before like a fool. Even if he'd been choreographed to "The Wheels on The Bus" he couldn't imagine throwing out an entire program and cobbling together a new one in a day, coach or no. And he had a feeling Yuri's coaches weren't going to enable such nonsense by helping him.

After a bit of Googling around, Otabek found an interesting place to go later – an open-table night at a club in Poblenou. He still had the motorcycle for another day… Could be interesting.

His phone buzzed again. With a sigh, he switched tabs. " _I see you, dick."_

The Kazakh turned his head every which way until his stool was kicked harshly from behind. "Hey!" came Yuri's unmistakeable howl, "Why don't you answer my texts!"

"I just got here, okay?" he lied.

"Bullshit. C'mon, let's go out."

Otabek sighed. "Where?"

Yuri pulled up a stool and ordered a White Russian in perfect Spanish. When given a steady look and asked for I.D. he smirked at the bartender and twirled a piece of his hair between his slender fingers. The poor man, clearly the shy, non-confrontational type, just blushed and started making his drink.

"Clearly not to a real bar," Otabek murmured. He didn't bother making a joke about how _of course_ that was Yuri's drink.

"Come onnnn," Yuri whined, a stupid grin on his face. "I've never been to Spain before, there's gotta be something interesting here to do!"

"Well, I _was_ thinking of going to this club in Poblenou so I can – "

"Cool!" the blonde interrupted, thanking the bartender for his drink and sucking it back. "What kinda club?"

Otabek gave him his best 'stern' face, which, really, wasn't that much different from his neutral face. "The kind you need a _real_ I.D. for. Not just a charming smile."

"Oh, come on, it's Europe, nobody cares." He perked up from his straw with a grin. "You think I'm charming?"

"I do. Bouncers do not."

That seemed to shut him up for a hot second and magically wipe that grin off his face.

"Look, we'll do something tomorrow, okay? I need to unwind. And you," he said pointedly, now all but glaring at the other skater, "apparently need to choreograph an entire program in the next…" He checked his watch. "23 hours."

Otabek stood and took out his wallet to pay and leave (with only a vague idea of how many Euros to leave as a tip) but Yuri put a stronger-than-it-looks arm on his shoulder, sitting him back down.

" _Angel of the Fire Festival_? Lilia and Yakov are out of their minds if they think I'm skating that after winning my first Senior gold. I'm just asking for another verbal ass-whooping from JJ. It makes me look like a girl. I want something cooler, something badass."

"So you better get to work." He tried to stand up again. Yuri, again, pushed him back to his seat.

The Russian looked flustered, but not upset. "So give me some inspiration! Let's go do some cool shit! Ride a motorcycle in the dark, get drunk at a Spanish club, get away from the fucking three-block radius we've been trapped in for a week." Otabek didn't know what to say. "Are these the eyes of a fuckin' soldier or not?"

Otabek let out a chuckle. "Let's go upstairs and get dressed first, then we'll talk. I'll be right back, gotta go to the bathroom."

Yuri grinned. "That's more like it. I'll meet you upstairs," he said, sucking back the rest of his White Russian.

When he returned from the bathroom, Otabek was more than alarmed to see not just his empty beer bottle and Yuri's empty cocktail glass left on the bar, but also four empty shot glasses.

Otabek felt lucky his room was two floors below Yuri's. At lightning speed, he shucked his skating sweats and slipped on jeans, a sweater and his leather jacket, darting back downstairs before (he hoped) Yuri would even get a chance to text him.

He didn't even have time to debate the merits of ditching a likely-very-drunk manic fifteen-year-old before his bike was revved up and he'd blown past a group of skaters outside the hotel, down the hill toward the club. Otabek figured it wouldn't be the end of the world that Yuri made it out to be for him to pass the night among the other Russians. Plus, he certainly hadn't been lying when he'd said he needed to get his mind off of everything.

He was a bit disappointed he'd missed the podium – and more than a little pissed that it'd been fucking _JJ_ that'd robbed him of it, but there was always Worlds, where he'd placed third last year. And he was a stoic in every sense of the word- he knew there was no use dwelling on the past.

But what awaited him back in Altamy was no future he wanted to dwell on, either.

The club was relatively quiet, but it wasn't even eight o'clock. Otabek went across the street for coffee and to play on his phone (and guiltily ignore Yuri's texts) for a while before he went in at nine and signed the book for his turn on the DJ tables – likely around ten. Just as well – he didn't want to be there all night.

It had been a few months since he'd done much mixing, but he found it much like riding a bike, and only had ten minutes to fill anyway. He watched the Spanish natives spin some interesting shit, the room growing more and more crowded as it grew later and later. Otabek had only been to one open table before, while he was training in Canada. This club reminded him of downtown Toronto, in fact. Blue and red lights assaulting the retinas, a cramped room with barely room enough for a bar and dance floor. Just the way he liked it. He wondered from the bar, sipping on another odd, somewhat-unpleasant Spanish beer, what kind of music he'd have to play around with.

Just as his name was called at nine-fifty, he heard a familiar voice behind him order a White Russian in slurred Spanish.


	3. Welcome to the Madness

Chapter 3 - Welcome to the Madness

Yuri let his mind swim in beautiful drunkenness he rarely got to indulge in, what with his need to be in top physical form to break world records and destroy other skaters. It hadn't been a tough job, following Otabek. While he did have a bike, Yuri had spent a good few seconds reading Otabek's phone over his shoulder at the hotel, so he knew where to find him.

An hour's walk in the frigid December wind wasn't much – he almost didn't feel the cold until he walked into the crowded club and suddenly had to strip down to a tanktop so he didn't overheat.

He had a fake I.D., but he was more charming than Otabek thought - enough to not need it most places he went. Including the rock club, _El Toraro_. The bullfighter – a perfect fit for Otabek. Especially since it seemed Yuri was _su toro_.

The book at the door confirmed that it was a DJ night. He'd heard of open-mics before – Mila had dragged him to one back in St. Petersburg during a bad switch to "cheer him up" – a fruitless endeavor, of course. Though it seemed he'd missed out on the cultural fact that DJs apparently needed a place to start out too.

Though his wallet had grown scarcer and scarcer as the week had gone by, he always had Yakov's credit card number memorized just in case. So he wasted no time getting to the bar before looking for Otabek.

Luckily, he wasn't waiting long. Just as he'd sat down, he heard his name called.

"La siguiente persona para tocar es… Otabek Altin," a voice announced above. Yuri was too drunk to see Otabek get to the tables; it seemed he'd more or less appeared there out of nowhere.

But he was excited. He had no idea his new friend was a DJ. On top of being a motorcyclist and a two-time Worlds competitor, Yuri could only grin at how cool he was.

He wasn't much into the kind of music he'd heard walking in, but Otabek was different. He quickly scrolled through the music on the board before he started spinning. Yuri wondered if he was nervous. Probably not – he never seemed nervous.

But nervous indeed he was. As Otabek mindlessly tracked down a few songs he knew, he couldn't get his mind off the fact that Yuri was unquestionably in the crowd and watching. Lighting made it difficult to see, but he'd had enough practice to do a decent job regardless.

He'd even located one of his favourite songs amongst the slew of Spanish rock, pulled the records and placed the disks on the table.

Despite it being a passion of his, Otabek felt himself simply going through the motions – literally – thinking only about how he'd get Yuri back to the hotel without anyone noticing he was drunk. The last thing the blonde needed before an exposition skate the next day was a hangover and an even-more-pissed Yakov to yell at him.

As his spinning came to a close, he finally threw on a beat to go with _Welcome to the Madness_ – a bit heavy for a rock club, but the patrons seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. Just as his time was up, he looked up from the table to see a short, blonde Russian just a few feet in front of him. He couldn't help but scowl at his grinning, excited face.

"Vamos a aplaudir Otabek! El siguiente es ..."

Otabek all but threw down his headphones and jumped the four feet down from the stage.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded over the noise of the club. " _How_ did you get here?"

Yuri didn't seem to hear him. "I want that song. The las' one. I wanna skate it t'morrow."

This surprised the older skater. Of all the things he wanted to say, he found himself speechless.

Yuri didn't: "Lesss go back and you can help me choro – choreo – design my moves! I have a great idea – Japanese Yuuri and Victor are doing s'me bullshit pairs skating to that _stuuupid_ song from lasss year, I have to one-up them s'mehow."

At least he was willing to leave – Otabek had been sure it'd be a job and a half to get him back to the hotel.

Otabek grabbed him by the hand and out the door so he could hear himself think. There was no way he could scribble out half a step sequence let alone an entire program in his state. "C'mon, we're getting coffee, then we're going to choreograph your expo."

Yuri grinned with drunken elation as he hopped on Otabek's bike and went back.

It was only once they'd walked – Yuri almost stumbling – through the back door to avoid Yuri's Angels and various other characters they preferred to avoid – and into his hotel room did he realize that neither of them had choreographed a program in their lives.

"Don't worry 'bout it," Yuri said, "if Victor can do it, anyb'dy can." He grabbed Otabek's laptop and started typing furiously. Otabek felt helpless as he watched Yuri completely change gears from 'let's go out and get drunk' to 'time to hammer out a program overnight'.

"Wha's the song called?"

" _Welcome to the Madness_."

"Got a notebook?" Otabek dug through his bag to get it. He watched in mild incredulity as Yuri put the song on repeat and started scribbling away.

It was nearing midnight, but he could sense that Yuri would be up for a while. He forced a few coffees into the young blonde as he went. He seeming to block out the rest of the world, Otabek included, as he wrote, erased, growled in frustration, grinned, and started over three times in just a half hour.

Though he'd originally had no intention of helping – he knew less about choreography than a first-year ballet student – but, Yuri having occupied his bed and tossed sheets of notebook paper every which way, he finally told him to sit down at the table across the room so he could help however he could.

It was only then that he finally looked at the shorthand he'd been working on. He was choreographing for two.

"What are you doing?" he finally demanded, pulling the notebook away from Yuri and scanning the page. "This is insane. And I have my own expo to worry about, I can't – "

Yuri, slowly becoming more sober, turned to his friend. "I can't show them up without you."

Otabek almost wondered why he was so bent on showing up the man he'd already beaten in the Final, but he had to admit that it was pretty classic Yuri, from what he knew of him.

He looked closely at the jumps and sequences. "You can do it without me."

Yuri seemed surprised by this answer. "You think?"

Otabek nodded.

Yuri pondered this and ripped out another piece of paper. Otabek wondered if he'd have any notebook left after that night.

* * *

He must've fallen asleep at some point, because it was around five in the morning when Yuri shook him awake. "I just finished. Let's go to the rink and practice."

Otabek yawned and sat up from the edge of the bed where he'd passed out in his jeans and coat. "Were you up all night?"

Yuri shrugged. "I had to get it done, didn't I?"

Still groggy, he responded, "I guess." Yuri didn't seem tired – in fact, he seemed restless and overjoyed at having designed his first program. Otabek looked over his choreography. "What does this mean?" he asked, pointing to a bit of shorthand he'd never seen before.

Yuri grinned. "It's a surprise. You're gonna love it."

"Looks like more pairs shit, I told you – "

"All you have to do is stand on the ice, I promise. It'll be the best thing anyone will ever see."

Otabek sighed. He knew it wasn't his place. He knew he didn't know the kid well enough to say anything, but he couldn't let him run off to the rink, likely try to break in due to it being _five-fucking-a.m._ , and if he even managed to hit ice, probably break his neck doing tricks he hadn't trained.

"This isn't normal."

Yuri raised an eyebrow. "No, it's different! That's what'll make this great – "

"No, _this_ ," he said, gesturing to Yuri. "Are you… I don't know, do you always get like this?"

Suddenly, Yuri's eyes went wide. He wanted to run from the question. It's one Mila had first asked long ago, the first time he'd gone to the North Pole of mania. A question he hadn't been forced to answer for ages. As such, he hadn't formulated a convincing lie – he'd never had to. At the time he'd told Mila to fuck off and mind her own business, but it quickly dawned on him that this wouldn't work with Otabek.

"I…" he started, thoughts flying a mile a minute through his head.

Otabek finished his sentence: "You're bipolar. You're manic."

Bouncing, bubbly Yuri had all but shut down. After a very pregnant pause he finally replied, "How did you… You barely know me."

The Kazakh stiffened. "I know it when I see it." It was all he could say without making things about him and his family. Right now, it was Yuri, and Yuri needed a slap of truth to the face. "You are, right?"

Yuri took a deep breath and nodded. "Welcome to the Madness, Otabek."

* * *

A/N: Translations: "La siguiente persona para tocar es…" = "The next person to play is..."; "Vamos a aplaudir..." = "Give it up for..." (My Spanish is rusty, show me mercy.)

Nailed down an outline. Might be a bit of a long story, depending on how closely I can stick to it, though that certainly isn't my strong suit.


	4. Straddle

Chapter 4 - Straddle

Yakov had no fucking right.

When Yuri made it back upstairs to change and get ready to hit the rink, he was greeted outside his room by a furious coach.

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing, Yuri?!" he barked, not sparing the other hotel patrons his volume. "Where were you all night?"

Yuri kept a straight face. "Otabek's room. He was helping me with my new program."

Yakov's face contorted into an expression of anger even Yuri had rarely seen. "New program? I don't think so. You've been training _Angel of the Fire Festival_ for months, you're not throwing out our work on a whim. Get inside! And give me that," he snarled, grabbing Yuri's phone from his hands.

"What! Give it back!"

"You're grounded until the expo. Go shower and change, we're going to the rink."

Yuri growled but did as he was told.

As hot water ran down his face, he couldn't stop thinking about Otabek – he knew so easily that he was manic. He had to be more careful, he guessed. But he knew from the minute he stepped off that podium that he had to make a better program. Not another one that made him look weak and vulnerable, no matter what his coaches said.

And God, Victor and Yuuri. He'd seen them training their _Stay Close to Me_ expo for a while, but it hadn't pissed him off until they both announced their non-retirements. If they were sticking around for Worlds, he had to make a splash tonight or else he'd drown in their appeal. Yuri was savvy enough to know what would blow up in the skating world, and _Angel of the Fire Festival_ certainly wasn't it.

He ached for his phone when he came out of the shower. He'd told Otabek to meet him on the ice, but he still wanted to text him. That's how he was when he switched. He went from wanting to talk to nobody but his cat to needing social contact 24/7.

As he dressed for the day, he wondered if this was the best mania he'd ever had. He'd certainly never gotten this happy this fast. Even his anger at Yakov was but a dull reminder of what he _should_ feel. And he knew the difference between regular frustration and the intense, restless frustration that came with not getting what he wanted when he was manic.

That frustration only grew when he emerged from his room to find Yakov practically guarding it, as if he were a fugitive who could escape his watch. Sure, he'd done it before, but he knew it wouldn't happen this time.

"Your eyes are red, did you sleep?" Yakov growled as, resentfully and phone-less, he followed his coach and the other Russian skaters back to the rink.

Yuri rolled said red eyes and ignored him.

He caught no sight of Otabek as they arrived but it was still early. Yakov tried to make him practice his old program, but Yuri wasn't having it.

"The new one is better! Just look!" he argued as he removed his skate guards and joined Mila on the ice. Yakov scowled, but took the notebook from Yuri to review his choreography. The blonde had to keep himself from grinning as he watched Yakov's eyes go from infuriated to awe-struck.

"Fine. Do what you want, you clearly don't listen," he snarled half-heartedly. "You don't train straddle jumps so warm up first." Yuri was alight as the flustered, half-angry coach took a seat by the entrance next to Georgi.

"Wow, you really did all this in one night?" Mila asked, taking the notebook from him as he hit the ice.

"Yeah, not like it's hard," Yuri said smugly.

Mila gave him a look. "Up all night again? Did you even sleep at all? Your eyes are red."

Yuri stuck out his tongue. He whipped out a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on. "There. Happy?" He grabbed his notebook and skated away.

The young woman followed him. "You don't do straddle jumps, you're going to rip your hamstring. Especially if you _can't see._ "

"Shut up. Practice your own damn expo."

Clad in his signature all-black practice attire, Yuri ignored the existence of everyone else on the ice as he started practicing. _As if I'm not in good enough shape to straddle,_ he mused sarcastically. He ignored Yakov's cry from the side of the rink as he did one.

"I SAID WARM UP FIRST! YOU WANT TO MISS WORLDS FROM A DAMN HAMSTRING INJURY?"

Yuri continued ignoring the cries from his coach and the concerned looks from Mila as he skated his program over and over, the song playing in his head and the choreography quickly coming together. He couldn't stop grinning. It was easier than he'd anticipated. He was better than he thought – the gold medal in his bag was more than enough proof.

After his fourth go, he noticed Mila had stopped practicing and was now watching intently from the edge of the ice.

"What are you looking at?" Yuri demanded as he finished, gliding over for water.

"I don't know," she said. "What am I looking at?"

Yuri just smirked. "The next World's gold medalist."

She shook her head. "Pulling tricks you haven't trained… up all night… you're losing it again, Yuri. Remember last year?"

"You shut up about last year," he said under his breath.

Mila put her hands up in defense. "All I'm saying is don't get carried away. You get... burnt out when you're like this."

"I SAID SHUT UP!" he screamed, skating away in frustration.

It'd been three hours and there was no sign of Otabek. Yuri tried to ignore this and focus on his routine, but when Victor and Yuuri entered the arena, he couldn't help feeling like he was half of a whole. He reluctantly yielded the ice to them and put on his jacket.

Before he could even get his guards back on, Yakov had come down from the stands to bitch him out about all the tricks he didn't want him to do. Yuri simply told him, "But I landed them, didn't I?" and somehow managed to shut him up – a feat damn near impossible.

Yakov didn't give him his phone back, so by five o'clock – just two hours before the expo – he started to panic, worrying that Otabek wouldn't play his part in his new program. He could skate it without him, but it wouldn't be the same – and it definitely wouldn't be as good.

"What's wrong, Yuri?" Mila asked as she too left the ice and joined the rest of the Russians on the bleachers. She grabbed him around the shoulders and rested her head on him.

"Nothing, leave me alone," he replied, trying to shake her off him.

"I noticed you have another skater in your choreography, is it that dark-haired guy you've been hanging out with? Otabek?"

"Yeah."

"Where is he? I haven't seen him…"

"I told you to leave me alone!" Yuri replied with far too much emotion.

Mila noticed. "What's with you? Are you into him or something?"

Yuri's eyes shot open. "What? No! I barely know him. I just don't want him to fuck up my program."

Mila seemed to be searching for what she wanted to say. "I think you do like him," she finally said.

Before Yuri had chance to rebut, Yakov noted the time and told them to get changed.

As the stadium began to fill with fans, Yuri took to the dressing room. It was only as he left that he saw Otabek with his hair slicked back and parted down one side, enter the rink. He thought he saw a bowtie peeking through the top of his sweatshirt, though the dim light that managed to get through his sunglasses might've tricked him.

"Otabek!" Yuri called, running after him.

He turned around. "Hey," he said, stoic and quiet as always. "Did you lose your phone? I tried to tell you, I've been sick all day."

"Yeah, Yakov took it, he's pissed at me," Yuri replied. "You were sick?"

Otabek nodded as they both walked into the rink. "Must've been that Spanish beer. Not used to foreign shit I guess. What's with the sunglasses?"

Yuri smirked. "You'll see." He paused, suddenly somewhat sheepishly adding, "Are… are you still going to be there?"

He seemed to know what Yuri meant. "Yeah." Yuri's face lit up. "Let me see the choreography again so I know when to shoot you."

He only got a moment to glance at it before the lights dimmed and Phitchit took to the ice for his expo. They took a seat with the other skaters. Otabek noticed Mila giving Yuri a worried look as they sat down.

Otabek was after Chris. Yuri had been so obsessed with making his own routine he hadn't even asked him about his exposition program. He was wearing a dress shirt, slacks, suspenders, and yes, a bowtie, as he left and Yuri told him good luck.

He watched with a grin as a swing song came on – the one everyone knew but didn't know the name of. Otabek broke his traditionally classical streak and nearly danced across the ice. His jumps were modest, yielding most of the song to spins and step sequences that Yuri couldn't help ogle. It was like he was watching a different man than the one who'd Free skated to Beethoven last night.

He ended with a slide to his knees, and the crowd roared. By far, it was one of the best performances Yuri'd seen in ages.

Otabek returned to the stands and Yuri almost knocked him over with a hug and a flurry of compliments. Otabek could only stare and hope he'd quiet down as JJ took the ice.

"Where'd you come up with that?" the blonde asked. "That was so cool, I'm sick of all the classical shit too. You should use that for Worlds! I loved the step sequence during the drum solo, did you choreograph that?"

Otabek shushed him as JJ's music started playing. "We can talk about it after. Get yourself psyched up, okay?"

Yuri sneered, "As if I'm not already. I can't wait to show Victor and that pork cutlet bowl what I'm really made of."

Otabek couldn't stop himself from watching Yuri's face go from interested at JJ's performance to disgusted and angry at Yuuri's. That is, he was mostly guessing, Yuri's eyes still hidden by sunglasses despite the darkness. As they finished, Otabek followed him down to the ice.

"Put on your jacket, it'll look cool with my outfit."

The other did as he was told, realizing he didn't even know what Yuri would be wearing besides gloves he was to take off for him as he stood rinkside. His eyes widened as Yuri shucked his sweats last-minute revealing skin-tight leather pants ( _how's he going to hit that straddle jump in those?!_ ) a tiny tanktop and jacket. He didn't take off his sunglasses ( _how's he going to even_ see _?!_ ). The lights dimmed, and Otabek's anxiety spiked. There was no way he wouldn't end up with a broken neck.

 _Welcome to the Madness_ started and he watched what was likely the first punk-metal skating routine he'd ever seen. And Yuri was already getting the audience's screams and swoons of approval as he lowered his glasses to reveal a dark eyeshadow that, he had to admit, looked pretty cool.

He threw off his jacket after a few jumps and spins (including a mind-bogglingly flawless Biellmann) and Otabek could only pray he knew enough to watch out for it as he skated.

Yuri skated with intense, angry power. Otabek couldn't help staring in amazement as the glasses didn't seem to throw him off by a single beat. He could probably skate with his eyes closed.

Otabek held his breath as Yuri geared up for the straddle jump nobody thought he'd land – and he did.

Finally, his turn. Yuri barely managed to come to a sharp stop just a foot in front of him. His eyes went wide when the blonde suddenly ripped the sunglasses off his face and threw him into the crowd just over Otabek's head.

 _I bet that wasn't planned. He probably can't see after all. Idiot._

Otabek tore off his glove, then, blushing heavily, bit the other off and spit it out. Yuri skated away. He knelt down and dragged his lithe body across the ice, tanktop riding all the way up to reveal most of his torso – one of the pieces of choreography he hadn't been able to read. He had to admit, he pulled it off well.

He pulled his last two jumps perfectly, started his last spin, and Otabek got ready.

In what he hoped was perfect timing, he pulled out his "gun" and "shot" Yuri to the ice.

He wondered how he did it. He didn't seem injured, he didn't even seem out of breath. Yuri pulled himself up and skated over to Otabek as the crowd screamed.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Told you it'd be great."

Otabek was speechless for a moment before he said, "Thanks for not whacking me in the face with those damn glasses. Told you you wouldn't be able to see."

Yuri smirked. "Oh, I could. Just wanted to scare you."

The Kazakh sighed. "As if I wasn't already. How're your hamstrings? A straddle in leather pants?"

The blonde grinned. "I could straddle all night if I had to." He winked and skated backward toward Yakov, waiting by the exit.

Otabek couldn't move for a moment. He hoped Yuri was still talking about jumps.

* * *

A/N: A Biellmann is the spin where the leg is held back above the head. And Otabek's swing song is "Sing Sing Sing" by Benny Goodman.


	5. Pyeongchang

Chapter 5 - Pyeongchang

Otabek felt out-of-place most places he went, but if there was one to top the list, it was skating banquets and galas. Even though he'd never spoken more than a few words to the other competitors, he found himself there at a table with Phitchit, Chris, Victor and Yuuri, somehow involved in a conversation. Well, maybe not _involved_. Much like their dinner before the GPF, he simply watched as gossip and blather spread around the table.

"Are you still getting married?" Phitchit asked eagerly, phone ready if Victor and Yuuri answered affirmatively.

Victor was about to respond, but Yuuri cut him off: "I didn't win gold, so –"

Then Victor cut _him_ off: "There's always Worlds," he said with a wink to his fiancé.

Blushing heavily, Yuuri looked around for a way to escape Phitchit's earnest questioning. ("Will the wedding be in Japan? Can I be your best man? Can I plan the reception?") when his eyes finally settled on Otabek.

"Where's Yuri, Otabek?" he asked.

He shrugged. "Probably getting barked at by Yakov." Nobody responded. "It's not like I keep track of where he is," he added.

Chris smirked. "You seemed pretty into where he was on the ice."

Otabek crossed his arms as the others giggled. "I was doing him a favor, that's all."

But Chris, being Chris, wouldn't let up: "I bet he finds a nice way of returning the favor."

Phitchit jumped on the wagon, perking up and asking if they were dating.

"What?" Otabek replied sternly, "Of course not, I barely know him."

"That's not what it looked like earlier," Chris said with his shit-eating grin.

Otabek almost wished JJ were there to absorb all the attention like last time.

Chris finally seemed to tire of Otabek's hard expression and uninviting responses and turned back to Victor and Yuuri. "Worlds should be interesting, huh? You two and Yuri all competing against me."

Victor laughed. "I think we're all going to be there. Don't be so self-centered, Chris."

It was his turn to crack up. "Says the Czar of self-absorption. What about you, Yuuri? Still going to hog Victor as your coach?"

Yuuri looked at Victor before saying tepidly, "Yeah. I'm… moving to St. Petersburg with him to train."

Chris and Phitchit 'ooh'ed and made the poor Japanese man look like a tomato as Victor planted a kiss on the side of his head.

Only Otabek seemed to notice when Yuri finally showed up, definitely still as manic as ever but, for once, doing his best to hide it. He noticed right away that was wearing his medal. Mila followed as Yuri hurried over to their table and sat next to Otabek.

"That was a great expo, Yuri," Japanese Yuuri told him.

Yuri, usually reluctant to talk to him let alone accept a compliment from him, couldn't help grinning. "Thanks."

"You really did all that in one night?" asked Phitchit, jealousy dripping from his voice.

"Yep."

Chris whistled. "I heard you had some help," he said, eyes darting over to Otabek.

Yuri just rolled his eyes. "Where's the champagne?"

"I need a refill, too," Victor said, taking him over to the table hosting hundreds of flutes of champagne. Otabek looked after him in concern, but he wasn't his keeper, and if there was ever a time where it was socially acceptable to drink, it was here and now. _Besides, Yakov's probably watching him like a hawk._

Chris asked Yuuri to dance, ("Don't worry, nothing that would make Victor jealous," he said slyly) and Phitchit followed to digitally document the experience, leaving just Otabek and Mila at the table.

Despite her being present throughout the entirety of the past week, he hadn't spoken to her. Mila must've felt some awkwardness in their silence, though Otabek never did – silence was a gift, he'd always found – and tried to talk to him about nothing – his expo, his score, Worlds. He could only muster one- and two-word responses.

He cast another glance over to Yuri, where he and Victor had locked elbows and were chugging back champagne in what looked like a race he was doomed to win.

"Do you like him?" Mila suddenly asked.

Otabek looked back to her with his reserved look and replied, "He's a friend."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically and played with her short red hair, seeming to mull this over for a minute. "That's what he says, too. I don't buy it, though."

He realized that if Yuri had discussed it with her, Mila must know him pretty well. Instead of indulging her, Otabek asked, "Is he always like this?"

"You mean manic? Only after he wins."

Otabek froze. "Y-you know? He never told me –"

"Neither have I," she said with a smile. "He thinks he can fool everyone, but I'm not as stupid as he thinks I am. Yakov is, and Victor is, but not me." She cocked her head. "And apparently not you. How'd you know?"

Otabek almost told her the truth, but caught himself and pushed his sister and mother out of his mind. "It's not exactly subtle."

Mila nodded. "He's usually… well, I guess not _normal_ , but he's usually relatively stable." She glanced over Otabek's shoulder to see Yuri now talking very much _at_ Victor with animation. "But he does get bad. _Really_ bad."

"Depressed?"

"Well, yeah. Sometimes he won't leave his apartment for weeks. But I meant… Well, I guess you know. He'll be up all night, blasting music, drinking, working out till he passes out from exhaustion."

Otabek nodded. "Like last night."

Mila seemed uncomfortable. "You guys didn't…"

His eyes shot open. "No! No! I meant being up all night."

She looked down at her hands, clenched a bit too tight. "He made... _that_ mistake last year."

Otabek was speechless. After a solid minute he stammered, "R-really?"

She nodded, clearly not wanting to talk about it anymore. Not that Otabek did either. He glanced back at the blonde and realized there really was a lot about him he didn't know.

* * *

Yuri had drawn the entire group of skaters to him as he regaled them with the tale of the fifteen-year-old who'd choreographed his first program in one night, sparing no grandiose detail – he'd done it in four hours. He'd only practiced it once or twice. He did it half-drunk. The others hung on his every word.

By the time he'd gulped down his fifth glass of alcohol in thirty minutes, his head was abuzz with pleasure. The weight of his first Senior Gold around his neck only amplified his happiness – and drowned out the thoughts of what Mila had said. Maybe he really did have feelings for Otabek. He thought about how he'd ended his stay in Sochi last year, and as he got drunker, he found himself mentally recreating the scene with the Hero of Kazakhstan.

But he didn't want to think about it too much – he was half-sure his feelings were only because of his switch – just like they were last year. Right now, all he wanted was to be drunk and high on the awe of his audience.

"I'll crush all of you at Worlds. _And_ Pyeongchang," Yuri said with a grin.

Everyone seemed to stiffen at the mention of the Olympics. Even Victor looked surprised. "You're aiming for Pyeongchang?"

"Why not?" Yuri asked, grabbing another glass from the table and taking a sip. "You're not?"

Heads turned to the older Russian for his answer. He let out a stiff chuckle. "It's two years away, who knows?"

The mood having gotten a bit lighter, Yuri grabbed another glass and headed over to where Otabek and Mila were sitting, looking far too serious. He smiled and placed the champagne in front of Otabek. "Hey," he said, sitting down. His leg bounced restlessly.

"Hey."

"You didn't bring me one?" Mila asked, gesturing to Otabek's glass. "Rude."

Yuri scoffed. "Get it yourself."

Mila stuck out her tongue and ruffled his hair as she left to do so.

The blonde growled and fixed his hair. "What's up? New blossoming love?" he asked, jerking his head toward Mila.

Otabek snorted. "Yeah, right." Yuri smirked and took a drink. "Go easy, eh?" he said, pointing to the already-almost-empty glass in his hand.

Yuri rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Mom_."

Otabek just took a sip of his own drink. "No one wants a repeat of last year."

The blonde's eyes shot wide open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"No dance-offs, I'm not gonna bite your gloves off here," Otabek said with a chuckle. Only when Yuri laughed nervously did he realize what he thought Otabek had meant.

Yuri took another drink. "So what were you talking about, then? You and Mila?"

"Nothing in particular," he lied.

Yuri didn't seem satisfied by this response, but didn't probe him further, much to Otabek's surprise.

After a moment, the blonde said, "So now what?"

"What?"

"You know. We leave tomorrow. I go back to St. Petersburg, you go back to Altamy. Is that it, we'll never see each other again?"

Otabek scoffed. "We'll be at Worlds in a few months, don't be so dramatic. We're not star-crossed lovers."

Yuri mock-pouted. "I'll be lonely."

"You have Mila and Victor. And Japanese Yuuri, he's moving there to train."

The blonde stood up abruptly. "WHAT? You better be kidding."

Otabek grabbed him by the medal and sat him back down as a few female skaters walked by and stared at him. "Why do you care?"

"I don't want him around me 24/7!" He craned his neck back to swallow the rest of his drink before slamming the glass back on the table. "That's just going to make me more lonely."

Otabek raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

Yuri seemed unbearably frustrated. After a moment he stood up and all but stumbled into the bathroom. Otabek, perhaps against his better judgement, followed.

"What's up with you?" Otabek asked harshly as Yuri gripped a sink so hard his knuckles were white.

"I'll never be able to focus enough to get to Pyeongchang with them around."

"Pyeongchang?"

Yuri looked at him through the mirror. "You think I can't do it?"

Otabek was beyond confused as to where this was coming from and where it was going. "Of course you can, you've proved that countless times this week alone."

The blonde turned around, and in doing so, seemed to switch back to his high, manic state. "I know I can. I just want you to be there, too." He was wearing a grin Otabek had only seen once before – at the end of his expo when he'd whispered in his ear…

He finally understood. Yuri had been lying when he told Mila he didn't have feelings for him.

But he had to clarify: "At the Olympics?"

Yuri confirmed his fears. He grabbed Otabek's tie and pulled him mere inches from his face. "No… with me. In Russia."

Otabek felt helpless as Yuri kissed him.


	6. Born to Make History

Chapter 6 - Born to Make History

Otabek pulled himself out of Yuri's grasp quickly. "Hey," he said, "wait a minute."

The blonde looked almost… vulnerable? Like the next thing Otabek would say might break him in two. He was so unstable, so incredibly fragile, and he didn't even know it.

"I… I can't just move to Russia."

"Why not?" he replied, almost angry.

Otabek searched for the words. "I… I have responsibilities. Shit waiting for me when I get back, you know?" Yuri kept staring at him. "My family. My mother, she's…"

Yuri pushed him away and tried to steady himself enough to leave the bathroom. He stumbled against a stall, and Otabek sighed, knowing this wasn't the time or place to discuss any of this.

"C'mon, let's go upstairs, I think you're done for the night," he said softly. As softly as he could. Surprisingly, Yuri complied.

As the Kazakh dragged the Russian out of the bathroom, he almost walked right into Yakov.

"What… Is he drunk?!" the coach hissed under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna take him upstairs, is that okay?" Otabek asked.

Yakov put a hand to his head. "Yeah, get him out of here, make sure he doesn't hurt himself, yeah?"

Otabek, surprised Yakov would entrust such a task to him, nodded and left the banquet with Yuri half-draped around his shoulder.

"Y-Yuri?" He said as they boarded the hotel elevator. "You okay?"

"I'm f-fine," he lied.

Otabek pressed the '8' button for Yuri's floor.

"No, wait," Yuri said, reaching out with all his strength to press the '6'.

Otabek shook his head. "No way, Yuri, you need to sleep this off. You didn't sleep last night and your flight leaves early –"

"I can't be alone r'now, Otab'k," he slurred, Otabek suddenly realizing how quickly the alcohol had hit him.

"O-okay," was all he could manage in response.

The elevator seemed to take years to get them six floors up. By the time he'd all but dragged Yuri into his hotel room, the blonde was trying to kiss him again, pinning Otabek to the door.

"Yuri," he protested, "not when you're like this, please."

He stopped. "Not when I'm like what?"

Otabek took his pick of reasons: "Drunk?"

"I'm not tha' drunk," he replied, "You mean when 'm manic."

Otabek was caught. "That's a factor," he said stoically. "Look, just get some sleep, please?" He led the blonde to the bed, but he grabbed him by the tie at the last second. "Yuri!" he cried as the blonde pulled him on top of him.

"Pl'se, Otabek. I won' see you for months…"

Otabek pulled himself away easily. Yuri was much weaker when he was drunk, he realized. "Go to sleep, Yuri. We can talk in the morning."

The blonde looked like he might cry, an absolutely novel face Otabek had never seen him wear.

Otabek stripped down to his underwear and did the same to Yuri before climbing into the bed next to him. Yuri didn't seem tired despite his drunken state, but Otabek's mind was made up: he would sleep if he had to drug him.

Luckily it didn't come to that. Under the covers, he spooned the younger skater and held him, his head in the crook of Yuri's neck, until he finally heard his breathing slow and saw his eyes close. He kept murmuring, though. "Don' wanna go back, don' wanna go back…"

* * *

Otabek was awoken yet again at the ungodly hour of five a.m. to find Yuri across the room, showered and dressed, on his laptop.

"W-what are you doing?" he asked, waking up slowly and sitting up. He kicked the blankets off him and crawled out of bed, across the room to where Yuri was seated at the desk. He only managed to get a glimpse of what he'd been looking at before he snapped the laptop shut. " _Flights from St. Petersburg to Altamy_ ".

"Nothing," Yuri replied, standing up and walking away, pretending to dig through his bag as Otabek gathered himself.

"Yuri," he said in exasperation. "I would… I would move to Russia, but I just _can't_. Not right now."

The blonde snapped his head toward him. "What if Yakov and Lilia would train you?"

The question came out of the clear blue sky, so much so that Otabek was momentarily speechless.

"I…" Yuri said, staring at the wall in front of him. "I slept with Yuuri last year. After the banquet. I guessed that Mila probably told you last night."

His speechlessness was doubled.

"I can't go back there… with him. Not.. not without someone…"

After another pregnant pause, Yuri turned around. "He doesn't even remember."

Otabek managed to stammer out: "H-he didn't remember anything."

Yuri nodded. "But I do."

Otabek wrapped an arm around him, not knowing what else he could possibly say. Sober as a judge he grabbed him by the arm and kissed him again. "Please," he murmured against his lips, "don't leave me alone with them a thousand miles away."

He knew he wouldn't be getting on that plane with Yuri. He knew he had to get back to his sickly mother and sister. He knew there was nothing that could keep him from them. But Otabek also knew that if he kept rejecting Yuri, their friendship might not last until Worlds. He kissed him back for the first time, chastely, and grabbed his wrists to keep him from moving.

"I have to go back," he finally said after they'd both run out of breath. "I'm sorry."

Yuri nodded. "I- I'm sorry for asking."

Otabek shook his head and tried kissing him again but Yuri turned his head. "Yuri, my mom… she's like you. She's bipolar."

This piqued his interest. "What?"

"That's how I knew. She hasn't left her bed in six months. I have to be there. My dad's dead, my sister can barely handle things when I'm gone. I have to go back."

Yuri smiled at him. Of all things… he was smiling?

"You're too good, Otabek." He shook his head. "I wish I had someone like you when I can't get out of bed for weeks."

Otabek's heart hurt. "But you're not going to be," he said as fact. "You're going to Worlds, and then Pyeongchang." He searched the hotel floor and found Yuri's medal. He draped it around his neck. "You're Yuri Plisetsky. Born to make history."

Despite everything, Yuri grinned.

Otabek's flight wasn't till nearly midnight, so, despite having gotten all of five hours of sleep, he was there when Yuri's plane was in the gate waiting for him.

"I'll see you soon," he promised.

Yuri nodded. "You better."

"Worlds is only four months away –"

Yuri grabbed Otabek by the chin in the departure waiting area. "No. No 'four months'. I want you in Russia. Soon."

" _Now boarding flight 5049 to Moscow_."

Yakov, Mila and Georgi were hanging back to wait for Yuri, but they knew they only had a minute left.

"I'll be there," Otabek promised, perhaps against his better judgement. "I'll be there."

Yuri tried to maintain a smile. Otabek kissed him hard, pulling him close.

"I'll be there. Soon."

Yuri nodded, heaved his carry-on bag over his shoulder and looked toward the other Russians, trying to pretend they weren't watching the two.

Before he followed the others in passing the boarding agent his ticket, he buried his head in Otabek's chest. "It's not just me," he said.

"What?"

"We were both born to make history, Otabek."

"Time to go, Yuri," Yakov said.

"GIVE ME A DAMN MINUTE!" Yuri howled back. He kissed Otabek one more time, deeply and longingly.

Otabek hugged him. "I promise."

Yuri finally pulled away, gave him one last look and headed through the gate to board the plane, Yakov grabbing him by the arm and cussing him out in Russian.

Just before she managed to get through, Otabek called Mila's name. She turned around.

"Just… watch out for him?" the Kazakh requested.

She just smiled and nodded. "I've handled him before. Don't worry."

Otabek didn't want to think about what "handling" manic Yuri meant, especially if it was anything like his dysfunctional family. They nodded to each other as she boarded, and the Russians were gone.


	7. Five Hours

Chapter 7 - Five Hours

Yuri touched down in Moscow seven hours later, said goodbye to the other Russians bound for St. Petersburg on a connecting flight, and searched for his grandfather's car outside the terminal.

"Hello, my Yurochka," he was greeted with a grin as he got into the car, throwing his bag in the back and beaming back at his granddad. "You won your competition, yes? I watched on television. You looked very happy."

"Yeah, I am," he replied without getting into just _how_ happy he was. As his granddad started the vehicle Yuri reached into the back to pull his gold medal from his bag.

As he drove, his grandfather glanced at the prize. "So beautiful," he said with a smile. "You deserve to win, your skating was very good."

Though he knew he couldn't fully appreciate the fact that he'd broken a world record, Yuri smiled and put the medal around his neck.

"Your mother will be very proud."

Yuri's face fell at the mention of his mother. "Is she back out?"

"Yes, for now," his grandfather said, merging onto the highway toward his house. "She would like to see you."

"Hell no!" Yuri cried, garnering a look from the other Russian. "I haven't seen her in years, she probably just wants a piece of my Grand Prix money."

"Money?"

"I'll get a check soon. About a million rubles."

His grandfather nearly swerved on the highway. "A million?"

"It has to go toward my training for World's."

The other was silent for a moment. "Your mother has been living very modestly. Perhaps just some could go to her?"

Yuri shrugged. "Maybe." Though he'd started skating to help her after his father had left, she'd long since been out of his life and off his radar. She called a few times, usually after Yuri won some competition or another, but he rarely returned her calls.

He paid for the first two stays at rehab. She managed to pay for this one. Despite being financially and socially independent since age ten, Yuri still thought about her, usually only during bad, bad switches. He would wonder if she'd ever get better enough to be his mother again.

The rest of the ride was silent.

* * *

Though he loved his granddad to no end, the only family member who'd ever even attempted to come to his events, the only one who seemed to understand the immense pressure he was constantly exposed to, he was certainly not aware of the effects that a win had on Yuri – he never had been.

The first night staying with him was tense. Yuri trying to hold back his racing thoughts and doing his best not to talk too much. He only had three days before he had to go back to St. Petersburg to get ready for Worlds, but between Yakov, Mila, Victor and, _ugh_ , Yuuri, he wanted the thought of returning out of his head. And he found mania made for a great distraction.

"Yurochka?" called his granddad, knocking on Yuri's bedroom door at one in the morning the day after picking him up, "Are you still awake? It is late, you should sleep."

"Yeah, just finishing something!" Yuri called back, continuing to stretch and check his bank account every ten minutes.

"Okay, have a good sleep, I will see you in the morning!"

"Yeah, goodnight!"

Yuri paced the small room anxiously. He'd been texting Otabek, Chris, Phitchit and even JJ, asking if they'd gotten their money yet. None had responded, making him all the more restless. He calculated the time differences in his head – it was likely that only Chris would be up at this hour.

He did more stretches. Once he heard his grandfather's door shut he snuck downstairs.

The liquor cabinet was fully stocked and unlocked. Not unused to this practice, Yuri took each bottle one by one, drinking until he saw fit to water it down back to its original volume. By the time he finished he was staggering back up the stairs, narrowly avoiding falling.

Though he felt a wave of shame from each swallow, he'd done it a dozen times before and knew he'd have no problem getting away with it.

When he quietly returned to his room, he finally saw a text from Chris saying his money had just come through. In a flurry of adrenaline, Yuri refreshed his online bank page, and, sure enough, it had gone from $65.15 to $18065.15 since he'd been downstairs.

He cranked his music as loud as he could without waking his grandfather and started jumping around the room. Every so often he'd look back at the page and get another surge of incredulity and nearly go into cardiac arrest. He had a million rubles in his account. He could buy a car, a house, a boat, anything.

Of course, Yuri knew it wasn't really money to play with but money to re-invest in his own future. But he always took some off the top. Not like Yakov and Lilia cost a million rubles a year anyway.

It was nearing two in the morning, so he couldn't go out. He was feeling drunker and drunker by the minute anyway. But he was itching for something to do.

He texted Otabek again. " _I just got my money! A million rubles! 18,000 American!_ "

He was probably still sleeping, since he hadn't replied to Yuri's texts from before –

" _That's awesome. Just got mine, too, 200,000._ "

Yuri grinned. " _What should I spend it on? A sweet motorcycle?"_

 _"You're fifteen, you don't even have a learner's permit."_

Yuri smirked, but before he could respond, Otabek made him remember that the money wasn't really his:

" _Save it for World's."_

Yuri sighed. " _You sound like Yakov."_

After a moment, he texted again, deleted it, then typed it out again and hit 'send' before he could give it more thought: " _I could use some of it to come visit you. It's only a five-hour flight, I could be there by morning :p"_

His heart pounded in his chest for the entire two minutes it took Otabek to respond. " _I don't know if that's a great idea, at least not right now. Like I told you, I have to look after my mom._ "

Yuri sighed, expecting such a response but not hoping for it. He rolled around the bed restlessly for a few minutes before deciding to go for a run.

It was at least minus twenty out, but Yuri didn't care. He ignored the few buzzes of the phone in his pocket as he started down the street in nothing but sweatpants and a tanktop. He was grateful as the alcohol finally set in enough to drown out the thoughts of his own mother.

* * *

She came to visit on Yuri's last day in Moscow. It was an awkward few hours as he hadn't physically seen her in two years. She looked better than last time, at least. They talked about his skating, mostly, and didn't talk about rehab – not that Yuri wanted to.

He was sure it wouldn't be long before she'd have to go back. Another DUI, another suicide attempt while blackout drunk, another bar fight. It was always something.

His grandfather, ever the well-intentioned man, was the one to bring up Yuri's money. His mother's unmoving face told Yuri she knew he'd won gold and therefore a hefty sum. The most he'd ever won, in fact.

"Yurochka could maybe help you out some," his granddad said as the three sipped coffee at his dinner table.

"I have a job, I am doing okay." She said in response, staring into her cup. "I know Yuri has important expenses for skating."

The room was silent a moment before Yuri finally spoke: "Maybe… after World's. Then I won't have to spend much until next winter."

She smiled. "That is very kind."

Yuri barely stopped himself from adding, "If you're not back in rehab by then."

Yuri's mother insisted on seeing him off at the airport with his grandfather. Yuri kissed him goodbye, and with some hesitation, received an awkward hug from his mother. They wished him well, and as Yuri boarded the plane, he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He took the bus from the airport back to his apartment, the same building the other skaters lived in. It had been nearly six months since he'd been back, after living with his coaches to train. His cat was still there, he remembered. He'd have to go over there soon to pick her up.

Yuri unpacked and was up all night blaring music and dancing, still high off his win and his now-full bank account. He'd gone from nothing to a fuckload multiple times, but never this much. His mind continued to wander to all the things he could potentially buy, and kept trying to stifle them by remembering what it was all for.

" _Back in St. Petersburg,_ " Yuri had texted Otabek the minute he'd touched down after the short flight. At two a.m. he finally got a response, despite it being nearly five in the morning in Altamy.

" _Awesome. How was seeing your mom?_ "

" _Not awesome. Weird. I don't know. How's your mom doing?_ "

" _Pretty good, actually. I'm moving back to the team's building in a few days._ "

Yuri felt a surge of self-loathing as the first thought that popped into his head was 'Maybe now he'll let me come visit.'

" _You're up early,_ " Yuri said instead of asking.

" _Couldn't sleep. Thinking a lot._ "

Yuri's eyebrows shot up, fingers typing at lightning speed: " _Oh yeah? About what?_ "

It felt like an eternity before Otabek replied, " _About us, I guess. I still need to be here for my mom's sake, but you could visit sometime soon. I… I miss you._ "

Yuri grinned. " _I miss you too._ "

" _You should get some sleep. Gonna try to get a few more hours myself._ "

But of course, Yuri had no intention of sleeping. Yuri was up all night on the internet, having had just a mobile internet stick at his old-fashioned grandfather's house. He spent a few hours bouncing between all his social media, wondering what he'd missed the last week or so. Once he saw a picture of Yuuri and Victor looking all happy and cute in Victor's apartment did he scoff and close the window.

"He misses me," he said aloud. He wondered why the thought made his stomach tighten. He tried to push Yuuri out of his mind and let thoughts of seeing Otabek soon drown out the rest.

But he couldn't get Japanese Yuuri out of his head. He was just a few floors down, right now, sleeping in Victor's bed. Just a year ago it'd been his bed they were sharing, if just for a night. Not even – Yuri had left before morning.

He wondered what had drawn him so intensely to the Japanese skater last year. He knew his hatred for him was something he'd never felt before. He hadn't skated with him last year, but he'd watched as he wiped out at every jump in Sochi. Screamed at him in the bathroom. But it wasn't until he'd seen him lose his inhibitions at the banquet that something in him had, if briefly, shifted.

All year he'd blamed it on the alcohol, but maybe it really was the mania. And maybe it's the mania this time too.

No, he thought, this time was different. It wasn't some messy, drunk hookup in a hotel that left him dripping in shame and anger for months after.

He missed Otabek, and he'd never missed Yuuri. As he Googled "Flights from St. Petersburg to Altamy" for the fifth time since he'd gotten back, he found himself frustrated that Yuuri was just five minutes away and to get to Otabek was five hundred dollars and five long hours.


	8. I Need You

Chapter 8 - I Need You

With just a few days before resuming his training schedule alongside the other Russians and, ugh, Yuuri Katsuki, Yuri broke down and hit the mall with his padded bank account.

As he returned, heading into his apartment building, hoping to avoid the other Russian skaters, he had the misfortune of running into Mila.

"Hey, Yuri," she said, dressed to go out. Her made-up eyes immediately darted down to the several bags of clothes, video games, cat toys and miscellaneous things he didn't need. "How much did you spend this time?" she asked sternly, her upbeat expression turning sour.

Yuri scowled. "None of your business. Don't you have a strip club to get to?" he said, gesturing to her rather revealing outfit.

Mila ignored the jab. "You know as much as I do that the money is for _skating_ , Yuri."

"I have plenty left, okay? Let me live." He didn't let her respond, pushing past her and down the hall to his room.

He was up all night trying on his new tiger- and leopard-patterned clothes, taking enough pictures to nearly fill his phone's capacity. He posted a few to his Instagram, sent a few to Otabek, and a few to Mila to convince her that his purchases were very much justified.

" _Looking good,_ " Otabek replied, " _Just don't spend too much, eh?_ "

Yuri sighed as he booted up his PlayStation to immerse himself in his new games. " _I didn't. God, you sound like Mila_."

" _Mila?_ "

" _Yeah, she's been on my ass all week._ "

It was a good five minutes before Otabek responded. " _Maybe you should listen to her._ "

Yuri groaned and nearly tossed his phone across the room. He was going to ignore him, but Otabek texted again: " _She's not as stupid as you think she is._ "

This only infuriated the blonde further. " _What, have you guys been talking? WTF?_ "

Another five minutes, heart racing, legs bouncing. " _She knows._ "

Yuri stopped shooting Nazis on his TV, sure he knew what Otabek meant. " _What, you fucking told her?!_ "

" _No. She told_ me _at the banquet. She's known all along, Yuri. She's just trying to look out for you._ "

Somehow, Yuri doubted that. He turned his phone off for the first time in his life and spent seven hours staring at his TV until he passed out from exhaustion at six in the morning.

He was startled awake by a harsh knock on his door. He put pants on and opened the door to a red-faced coach ready to pounce. "YURI! GET DRESSED, IT'S 3 O'CLOCK FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"Fuck, I just woke up," Yuri said before he could stop himself.

"You _just_ woke up?! You're two hours late, let's go. What's up with you? I called you five times!"

"I turned my phone off, sorry," Yuri replied, rubbing his eyes.

Yakov, teeth gritted, repeated, "Get. Dressed. Get your ass to the rink." Without another word, he pointed a finger at him and left.

Yuri sighed and turned his phone back on. Sure enough, five calls from Yakov. Two from Mila, even one from Victor. He threw on his black training attire, grabbed his skates and made the ten-minute walk to the arena, ignoring the three texts from Otabek he'd also missed.

Yuri's first day back on ice did not go well.

Between Yuuri and Victor being gross in front of his face, Yakov's constant barking, and Mila constantly inserting her "wisdom" into all aspects of his life, Yuri left the arena more frustrated than ever. It was only on his way home that he remembered all the texts and voicemails on his phone he'd previously ignored.

"Yuri, you're late. Get to the arena," Yakov had said five different ways, growing increasingly irate with each voicemail.

"Yuri! Yakov asked me to call you, where are you?" from Victor and Mila.

" _I honestly didn't tell her, Yuri,_ " Otabek had said in three different ways. Yuri didn't want to think about it right now.

And one voicemail from a number he didn't recognize. "Hello, Yuri! It's Mom. I'm just checking in, seeing how you're doing. I hope you are well. Give me a call back, yes? I'd love to come see you skate sometime. Love always!"

He _definitely_ didn't want to think about that right now.

But he couldn't keep himself from doing so.

Why was she suddenly so interested in him? Yuri was convinced it had to be the money. Which… had been slowly disappearing between shopping binges. But he still had plenty left, more than enough to cover his training costs, the outfits he'd have to buy for Worlds and the new skates he'd have to buy in a few months. Plus an extra $800 or so. He wasn't as reckless with money as everyone seemed to think.

Maybe she really did want to be a real mother again.

Despite being somewhat mad at him, Yuri couldn't help from telling Otabek about her voicemail.

" _You don't talk to her much?_ " he replied. Yuri realized he'd never talked about her before. Which made him realize they'd only been friends for about a month. There was so much he'd never gotten to talk to him about.

He called him. "Yuri?"

"Yeah. Hi."

"What's up?" Otabek asked, surprised, Yuri could tell.

That was a good question. Yuri didn't quite know where to start. "I guess I just wanted to explain the shit with my mom, it would've taken forever to text it." After a pause he added, "It's good to hear your voice."

"You too."

"Yeah." He swallowed a lump in his throat. He'd never really told anyone about their complicated relationship. The Russian skaters knew a bit, but, Yuri realized, nobody knew the full story.

So he told him. He told him about the first time he'd found his mother, nearly drowning in her own vomit from her first suicide attempt at age eight. He told her about how his first Junior gold money had all gone to paying for her hospital stay. And how the next one went to her rehab. He told him how he'd never met his father, and how his mother had once drunkenly threatened to kill him. How she'd lost custody of him when he was ten. How he hadn't seen her for more than a few hours at a time since.

Otabek was doing his best to understand and commiserate, but after nearly an hour of him talking without barely time for a breath, Yuri snapped back to the present and said, "Sorry for dumping all this on you all of a sudden. When I start thinking about her it's like I can't stop."

For a minute the line was silent. Finally, Otabek said, "I think you have PTSD, Yuri."

"PTSD? Hardly," the other skater scoffed back.

"Obviously I'm not a doctor, but… my mom's kinda like yours. She fucked me and my sister up a lot."

Instead of addressing it, Yuri said, "I wish you were here."

"I wish I was, too," Otabek replied without hesitation.

They were silent again.

"You could be," Yuri said.

He heard the other sigh. "Not right now."

"Then when?"

"Soon. I promise. We'll be in the same place soon." He almost sounded sad. After another pause, he said, "Send me a picture. It'll be like I'm there."

Yuri managed to chuckle. "Okay. We should Skype sometime. I miss you."

"I miss you too."

His head turned when he heard a knock at the door. "Someone's here, I gotta go. I'll talk to you soon?"

"Yeah. Have a good night, Yuri."

"You too. Bye."

"Bye."

Yuri hung up and answered the door. He almost rolled his eyes as Mila entered without invitation.

"What do you want?" Yuri growled.

"Yakov's worried. He's catching on."

The blonde raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure Otabek's already told you, I know you're bipolar, and you're manic. And Yakov asked me about it today."

"Yeah, he told me. You didn't," he said curtly.

Mila waved him off. "Yakov asked me directly if you were bipolar, Yuri."

The blonde's eyes shot open. "What? Why? What did you say? Have you been talking to him about me?" This was not good.

Mila put her hands out to calm him. "I didn't tell him, okay? I said I didn't know what he was talking about. But I don't like this. It's been three years, he's starting to notice. You have to tell him." Yuri's cat started rubbing against her, but she didn't pay her any attention.

Yuri scowled. "No way. He'll pull me from the ice forever."

She avoided his eyes. "Then I'll tell him."

"WHAT? Fuck off. It's none of your business!"

"It is now!"

Yuri put a hand to his head. Today was too much to deal with. He'd barely slept twelve hours over the last five days combined. He could hardly think straight.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll talk to him. Just… go away, okay?"

Mila looked hurt, but did as requested. "Try to sleep tonight," she said as she closed his door behind her.

Yuri picked up Potya and held her for a while. He took his pills, but the urge to sleep never came.

* * *

The two texted nearly all day, every day, practice schedules and time zone misalignments be damned. They Skyped every night, 9pm Yuri's time, so he didn't go out much anymore. He also didn't sleep much, especially since their calls wouldn't end any time before 2am.

Yuri managed to avoid his promise to talk to Yakov for the rest of the week, though he knew he was growing suspicious with every day Yuri woke up hours late to practice.

Despite everything, it seemed his intense mania and obsession with Otabek was actually hurting his skating – something that'd never happened before.

He thought his mania might be fading until one night, they were chatting early so Yuri could go out with the skaters for dinner, Otabek mentioned him coming to visit. "It might be easier that way."

Yuri's eyes darted between Otabek's and the camera. "You don't mean that," he accused him.

Otabek's eyebrows shot up. "Of course I do. I want to see you, but I need to be here while I can be to be with my mom." He blushed before he added, "I'm lonely. I… I need you. In my life. You're… you're –"

There was a knock at the door. "Yuri~! Time to eat!" called Victor.

"I'll be there." Yuri said to his friend. "I need you, too."

Otabek gave him a smile. They said their goodbyes and Yuri followed the other Russians and Japanese Yuuri downstairs.

Victor promised it wasn't far to walk so they did. Yuri, Victor, Yuuri, Georgi, Mila and her two friends whose names he could never remember.

When they arrived, all Yuri could say is, "Why are we _here_?", gesturing to what had to be the only Japanese restaurant in the city.

"I wanted to show everyone how great Japanese cuisine is!" Victor replied enthusiastically. "I recommend the pork cutlet bowl," he said to the others as they entered.

Yuri barely stopped himself from scoffing and rolling his eyes.

The group gathered around a large table; Yuri found himself on one end with Victor, Yuuri and Mila. Nearly the entire table had ordered Katsudon (Yuri included – it was indeed a fine dish). The Japanese waitress spoke with Yuuri for a few moments before realizing that most of the others spoke Japanese as well.

"What are you doing in Russia with all of these Russians?" she asked.

Yuuri blushed and told her they were skaters. "Really? Even the little one?"

"HEY! THAT'S THE SENIOR GRAND PRIX CHAMPION YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Yuri yelled in Japanese. The waitress blushed and shuffled away with an apologetic bow.

The others stared at him for a moment before Victor, as he does, broke the ice: "So, there's actually a special reason we're all here tonight…" he said with a smirk.

"Oh, lord," Yuri groaned.

Victor ignored him. "Yuuri and I have decided we can't wait. We're getting married in a month in Hasetsu. You're all invited, of course."

The girls cooed and congratulated them; Georgi shook Yuuri's hand, and Yuri couldn't do anything but blink.

There was a moment where Victor had the attention and both Yuris locked eyes. All the Russian Yuri could think about was the night they'd been together. He hated him for not remembering. Yuuri gave him a look of innocence and confusion. It wasn't fair. Why did he have to remember and Yuuri could forget?

Yuri excused himself to the bathroom, but instead made a beeline for the door. He went back to his apartment, his head racing and doing calculations faster than light speed. He shoved clothes into a bag, hopped on the bus and after an hour and two transfers, he was at the airport.

He bought one ticket for the next flighty to Altamy, Kazakhstan and called Otabek from the gate.

"Hey, it's Otabek – "

"It's Yuri, I –"

"—I'm not around, leave a message."

Yuri hung up. When his section was called to board the plane he paused. But not for long.

He'd done it before when he followed Victor to Japan. He'd find Otabek. He needed him.


	9. One in a Million

Chapter 9 - One in a Million

Unlike Japan, Kazakhstan didn't have the same amount of wifi hotspots or data coverage. Yuri exited the gate when he touched down, anxious, worried and excited all at once.

But when he couldn't get a signal, he started to panic. He went to the currency exchange counter, barely got through the interaction, knowing very little Kazakh. Luckily the clerk spoke broken Russian.

He realized, leaving the airport, that he had no idea where Otabek lived. With no phone service, Yuri felt lost and numb.

Yuri found a payphone despite it being 2017. He punched in Otabek's number, but he didn't answer.

Panic turned to regret. Maybe flying down here in the middle of the night wasn't the best of ideas.

He kept trying to reach Otabek, but eventually concluded he was fast asleep, it being 5am and all. Yuri, having not slept in days, finally felt the need to sleep set in himself.

Yuri found a stretch of seats, put his backpack under his head, and passed out cold without a second to think.

* * *

Otabek woke up with an uneasy feeling that Monday. He hadn't heard from Yuri since he'd gone out to dinner with the other skaters – on Friday. His phone message said he had no service. He was getting worried.

Especially when he awoke to 5 missed calls, all from the same number, which, when he called back, went unanswered.

Thankfully, his mother was recovering from the several months she'd spent in bed. The combination of his return and new medication got her back to her routine in just a few weeks.

Sofia, just two years his senior, had been struggling to balance work, school and taking care of their mom. She was so relieved when Otabek returned that she slept for a day straight as soon as he got in the door. Though he'd always felt a twinge of guilt for leaving for months at a time, Sofia and his mother had always encouraged him. It helped that some of his winnings could go toward groceries and the mortgage when he was back, but when he was gone... Well, Sofia always told him it was fine, but he knew her enough to know she was lying. But that was okay. She was lying for him, for his peace of mind.

Otabek finally decided to call Mila. Either Yuri was ignoring him, or something was very wrong.

"Otabek? Oh, thank god. He's with you?" she said, mildly distraught, but annoyed more than anything.

"No. I was calling to see if he was around. Haven't heard from him lately." He didn't want to come off as a clingy boyfriend, but he also was genuinely concerned.

"Damn. No, we've all been calling him – Yakov's livid – but nobody's seen or heard from him since he left the restaurant on Friday."

Otabek didn't know why, but he had a feeling Yuri had gone AWOL on purpose. And right after telling him he should come visit.

He had to be honest. "I think he might be here."

Mila replied, "What do you mean 'might be'?"

Otabek told her about their exchange and Yuri's desire to see him. "He might've just… gotten on a plane." As soon as he'd said it, he believed it. "I should go to the airport."

"You really think he'd just up and leave?"

Otabek considered this. "Yeah. He's running on no sleep and bad judgment. And I told him to come visit. I gotta go, I'm gonna go find him."

He rushed down the stairs, put on his coat and told his sister to watch their mom.

"Where are you going?" she asked. "It's 8am."

"I'll be right back. An hour."

Sofia groaned. "I have class at 11, Otabek, it was your day to – hey!"

Otabek ignored her and left the house, grabbing the keys to his motorcycle along the way.

He sped through rush hour traffic, through downtown and twenty minutes down the highway. He narrowly avoided a crash as he made the sharp turn off the freeway at the last second.

He called Yuri's phone as he entered the airport's "Arrivals" terminal. He felt lucky that it was a small airport.

Otabek didn't want to resort to yelling Yuri's name out, but he also felt he had little hope of finding him. The more he searched, the more his belief that he was even here dwindled.

And then suddenly there he was. As Otabek stepped off the elevator to the mezzanine above, he was curled up on a bench, hair somehow flawless despite the rest of him looking rather disheveled.

He sat down next to the backpack Yuri was using as a pillow. "Yuri, wake up." Nothing. "Yuri!" he said a little louder. The blonde stirred.

"Otabek? How in the hell – "

"I had a hunch. One in a million chance."

He slowly sat up, yawning and wiping his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Around 9."

"A.m. or p.m.?"

"A.m. It's Monday."

Yuri's eyes bugged out of his sockets. "I lost an entire day?!"

"When did you get here?"

Yuri blinked a few times but said he wasn't sure.

Otabek stood him up and guided him toward the parking lot. "Well, that can happen when you don't sleep for a month straight," he said, oozing sarcasm. When Yuri didn't have a snappy comeback or some expletive to yell at him, he turned to him. He almost looked like a zombie.

"You okay?" he said.

The blonde nodded. "Tired."

"Still? After sleeping for a day?"

"Been up for five or six." Seeming to come back to the real world a bit, he explained, "Sleep debt. The longer you don't sleep, the more sleep you'll need to make up for it later."

Otabek didn't say anything as they mounted his bike. Then, holding onto Otabek as he started it, Yuri said sheepishly, "Are you mad?"

"Of course not" was all he said as they drove away, the engine too loud to talk further.

Yuri pondered how he'd been able to sleep so long, but mostly thought about how Otabek had found him. He must've had a sixth sense.

That's when it started to dawn on him what he'd done. Yakov would be furious. Mila would be pissed and/or worried. Probably just pissed. Nobody seemed to care much when he went to Japan last year. Except, of course, his coach. But nothing Yuri did got his stamp of approval anyway.

Otabek eventually pulled up to a small house in a rather poor neighborhood. As they headed toward the door, Otabek said, "My mom's… a lot. I don't know what kind of mood she'll be in."

Yuri just nodded as they entered.

Immediately his senses overloaded. The house smelled strongly of some sort of savory broth, and there were framed oil paintings everywhere. It was also very, very dark.

Yuri followed Otabek into the living room, where his mother was seated, knitting, covered from the waist down in a blanket. "Hello, mother," Otabek said. "This is my Russian friend I told you about, the skater. Yuri Plisetsky."

The middle-aged woman, much younger than Yuri anticipated, smiled and nodded. "Nice to meet you." Then, as if the two had disappeared, turned back to knitting a blue scarf, staring at it with intensity, as if she were threading a tiny needle.

"He's going to stay with us for a few days, is that okay?"

Then she seemed to turn back on. "Of course." Then back to her scarf. Otabek and Yuri went upstairs.

Sofia almost ran into them. "Good, you're back. Hi, Yuri, right?" she said quickly in English. "Sorry, I don't speak Russian. Anyway," she turned back to Otabek and spoke Kazakh so fast that Yuri didn't get a word of it. "I'm off, I'll be back around midnight. Her pills are in the drawer, she gets 2 at 4pm and 4 at 9pm, got it? Alright. See you." And she pushed past them and out the front door.

Yuri raised his eyebrows. "She won't be home till midnight?"

"School, then work, plus travel time," Otabek explained. "She hardly had time for mom; it's a good thing I'm back, at least for now."

Otabek's room was the very epitome of minimal. Nothing on the walls, plain white bed, dresser and desk. No clutter in sight.

"Wow, you sure are a clean freak," was the first thing Yuri could say. Otabek laughed.

Yuri sat down on his bed. "So… a few days?"

"What?"

"You told your mom I'd be here for a few days."

Otabek shrugged. "I don't know. What… what are your plans?"

Yuri stared at him for a minute. "I guess… I just wanted to see you."

The other man nodded. Then he perked up. "Oh," he said, pulling out his phone. "I should tell Mila you're here."

Yuri grabbed his phone as he was dialing. "Don't. I don't want to go back. Not yet. Please."

Otabek sighed and started thinking. Obviously he couldn't stay forever, unless he were to train here. But Otabek knew that wouldn't happen. Lilia and Yakov, despite how Yuri talks of them, are like his parents. But Otabek's mom was his parent.

It seemed impossible. But he believed they could figure it out. "Okay," he said, "two days. Then you have to call Yakov."

Yuri grinned with glee. "Thank you." And he grabbed Otabek by the shoulders and kissed him deeply.

When they separated, Otabek said, "I still have to call her. I'll tell her I couldn't find you at the airport."

Yuri nodded as he made the call.

"...Yeah, I'll let you know if anything comes up. Bye."

Otabek closed his eyes before turning around to see Yuri practically asleep sitting up. Despite sleeping for more than 24 hours, he was still out of fuel.

"Why don't you get some more sleep," Otabek said. "I know it's early, but it looks like you need it." He expected Yuri to protest but he just yawned and nodded, laying back on the bed.

"I'll wake you up for dinner."

Otabek just watched as the blonde slowly fell asleep. He shook himself off when he realized he was smiling.

Was this really just a friendship? Otabek believed so less and less every day that they talked for hours, yearned to be in the same place. Mila was right all along. He was falling for him.

* * *

The two spent their two days trying to pack in as much time together as they could before Yuri went back to Russia.

They laid in bed and talked for hours like they would online, but this time holding hands and Yuri cuddled against Otabek. They passed a few bottles of wine back and forth and fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next morning, Yuri's phone rang. He had service.

It was, much to his horror, Yakov.

He endured the verbal beating, but begged him to let him stay a while longer.

"ARE YOU KIDDING?" Yakov responded predictably. "GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!"

"Please, look, maybe I can train here, I can still – "

Yakov was angrier than Yuri could've imagined, interrupting him to say: "Either you get on a plane by the end of the day, or I'll make sure you never make it to Worlds."

Yuri's face started turning red. "That's not fair!"

"You're bipolar and you're off your meds. You're going to come back and get your shit together, then train like a dog for Worlds. Lilia and I have invested in you. You can't be flying off to another country whenever you want!"

"You're not my dad, you can't tell me what to do!"

The line was silent for a moment. "I can't. But if it should... come to the attention of the right people, you being sick could bench you from the ice. For a long time."

Yuri's eyes bugged out, all while Otabek was processing how wrong he was, how readily Yuri said he would train in Kazakhstan.

For once, stunning Otabek once again, Yuri took a deep breath and said "Okay. I'll leave tonight." And hung up.

Immediately tears started streaming down his cheeks.

Otabek pulled him into a hug. "Don't worry. We'll see each other again soon."

"I wanted to do so much more."

"I know. But we'll take it slow."

Yuri just nodded and sighed.

Because he couldn't bear it, Otabek bought his plane ticket online.

"It'll be good to get back on your meds, Yuri," Otabek said to the blonde, head buried in Otabek's pillows while Otabek stroked his arm.

"I won't be the same."

"I don't care. I'll still love you." Otabek immediately stopped. "I mean…"

Yuri sat up. "I love you too, Otabek."

The two sat in silence for a while before Yuri started to kiss him. Much less worried about taking advantage of him, Otabek allowed it. They kissed for what felt like just a few seconds before night fell and Otabek and Yuri headed back to the airport.

"It was nice to meet you," Yuri said to Otabek's mom, who'd spent most of Yuri's time there on the couch or in bed. He hadn't even seen Sofia again since he first arrived.

It seemed Otabek's mother was in an odd mood. She said "Goodbye. I have to go lie down." Her tone was positively morose.

"She's doing better. Slowly," Otabek said. They left the house, drove the thirty minutes to the airport and said goodbye at the gate.

"This isn't fair," Yuri said in frustration. "I wish things were different."

Otabek nodded. "I know. Life's not fair."

Exasperated, Yuri said, "Is there any way, any scenario where you could see yourself with me, in Russia? Even just... a one in a million chance?"

The other was taken off-guard. But he thought. Sofia would be done school in a year. Always having been their mother's favorite, she said she didn't mind taking care of her when Otabek was gone for months at a time. Maybe it would be possible.

"I… I can't let my sister do it all alone, not now. Maybe… when she finishes school."

Yuri just nodded and stared at the ground.

"I'm sure I'll see you before then."

Yuri nodded. They kissed goodbye and Yuri went through security. He gave Otabek one last wave, and he was gone.

* * *

A/N: So sorry for taking forever, I had terrible writer's block, but decided to pound it out before I had to start NaNoWriMo. So it'll be at least a month or two before the next chapter, sorry~


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